Shadows
by Be Summer Rain
Summary: She was meant to be innocent.


Shadows

Laughter sounds harsh and unnatural today; the shrill giggles of office workers on their lunch break filter through the windows, and Olivia would cover her ears if she thought it would help. It takes time to learn that nothing really does. She doesn't like to think of herself as cynical: disillusioned, yes. But cynicism implies giving up, and giving up would mean losing.

She tunes back in just in time to hear the Captain ask if she'd gotten anything from the suspect's wife. "Yeah," she says, "she heard him buzz in at around two. Didn't let him up."

"Least someone's got a little sense," comments Munch.

"She's cooperating, then?" asks Cragen.

Olivia nods. "She should be helpful."

"Fin," Cragen says, turning to face the detective, "how'd the canvas of the school go?"

"Ever'body knows something," says Fin. "Tough to tell who actually knows anything. Talked to Sarah, Anna's best friend, but it looks like someone scared the shit out of her."

"Three guesses who," mutters Elliot.

"Her teacher," Munch adds, "said Anna's been more reserved than usual. She's a quiet girl to begin with, but now she tries to blend in with the wall. Doesn't call attention to herself; hardly eats. Always looks uncomfortable."

"It's not like there's any doubt she's been molested," snaps Olivia, earning a reproving glare from the Captain.

"We need more proof, Olivia," he says pointedly.

She rolls her eyes. "Put her on the stand and let the jury _look._ The girl is terrified of everyone and everything."

"We've dealt with messed up families before," says Fin, shaking his head. "This isn't different."

"Yes, it is," Elliot shoots back. "How many little girls get molested one minute and taken out for ice cream the next? Abuse them, then spoil them?"

"Guilt," says Olivia quietly.

"Elliot, you know this is a common pattern," says Cragen. "What's the problem with this case?"  
Elliot crosses his arms. "Anna. That's my problem. I have never seen a six-year-old look that haunted. Ever. I look through my kids yearbooks sometimes – the kindergarteners beaming at the world. They think everyone's their friend. Everyone loves them. Turn the page and the kids get older. Their faces hide more. The shadows appear. Every single child. She was meant to be innocent."

The other detectives refrain from comment. There was nothing different about this case. Nothing different about this child.

"Are we having any luck finding the father?" asks Cragen, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Not much, aside from his two in the morning buzz," says Olivia. "No way to locate him right now, not until he makes a move."

"He could be in a toy store," says Elliot dangerously. "In a grocery store. At the park. Watching all the little girls with blonde hair."

Cragen sighs. "Elliot. There's nothing we can do. Not right now."

"There damn well should be." He leaves the squadroom in a fury; the others are becoming used to seeing his back. Cragen closes his eyes briefly, then opens them to find Olivia about to leave.

"Olivia. Let him go," he says, a familiar refrain these days.

She faces him. "With all due respect, sir," she says, a slight edge to her words, "no."

"You shouldn't be up here," says Olivia, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't thought to grab a jacket.

"Neither should you," he replies, and it almost suprises her that he's spoken. She's become used to his silences. She walks over to where he's leaning his elbows on the wall, staring out at the city. Darkness is beginning to fall; she's always thought it fitting. "What do you want?"

"To be here," she says simply. She follows his gaze to the lights below, as if they are the gods of their tiny worlds. Headlights flash around corners and store windows are beginning to go to black.

"I didn't need you to follow me," he says, almost accusatory.

She ignores his tone; he does need her, and they both know it. "What was it about this case, El?" she asks, hoping the nickname will soften him.

"I was there," he says, his throat constricting, "at the park with her mother that day. She was on the swings. Happy for the first time in months, you know? And I see her suddenly stiffen. There's a man across the street, a man wearing the same coat that her father has. It wasn't him, but she couldn't stop shaking. This six-year-old child shaking so hard she could barely breathe."

She looks at him, trying to understand. The children are the worst; everyone knows that.

"And I get so damn tired," he says, his words halting and uneasy now. "So sick of watching kids lose their innocence and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. And that father –" He stops off abruptly, inhaling sharply, wishing the cold could freeze more than his lungs. "How do you – Anna is terrified of her father. Hell, she's terrified of his coat. How do you destroy someone like that?"

"He didn't destroy her," Olivia says quietly. "He wounded her. There's a difference."

Elliot rubs his hands over his face roughly. "Some wounds are fatal."

Olivia leans on the wall next to him, keeping her distance. She loves him desperately, almost more than she can silence, but she can't afford to let it blind her. "And some aren't."

"What about Anna's? How do we know? What's gonna happen to her when she grows up?"

"Maybe she'll become a cop," says Olivia, a wry smile at the edges of her lips. It's been a while since she's really smiled.

He looks at her and laughs quietly, even though nothing's really funny and maybe nothing will ever be funny again. "Do you ever wonder how everyone else lives?" he asks, abruptly changing the subject. "The ones who don't see shadows?"

"Yes," says Olivia, barely audible. Shadows lying in the gutters and shadows around corners and shadows on his face and in her eyes.

"Wish you lived in the sun?"

"Every day," she tells him honestly.

"I used to," he says, and she has to strain to hear him. Her expression is lost on him; he's staring down at the street again. "Long way to fall," he says, and she knows he's not talking about the height.

She moves over then, and puts a hand tentatively over his. She can't think of any other comfort she can give him. Not this time. He flinches and she pulls back quickly.

"It's just – your hands are cold," he says, reaching for them hesitantly.

She shrugs. "They always are," she says. These days.

He rubs his hands over hers briskly. "Better?" he asks, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Yeah," she says, and only lies a little.

(the end)


End file.
